Footsteps
by dust on the wind
Summary: One foot, then the other... that's the way...


_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes._

 _The idea for this story came while I was listening to Claude Debussy's "Des pas sur la neige"_

 _Cover image: Paul C_ _é_ _zanne (1839-1906), "Melting snow, Fontainebleau"._

* * *

Three hundred and eight… three hundred and nine… one foot, then the other, that's the way…

I knew this job would turn out to be an absolute ruddy disaster. I tried to tell them. You mark my words, I said, it's sure to go wrong, one way or another. All those SS men on guard, with machine guns, and probably dogs as well – one of us is bound to end up shot. Or bitten. Or both. Besides, I said, I can feel it in me bones, it's going to rain.

And I was right, wasn't I? Well, nearly. As a matter of fact, snow's more of a nuisance than rain. At least when it rains you just get wet, and you don't freeze your cobblers off. Besides, everything looks the same once it's covered in snow. If I didn't know better I'd swear I went past that same tree, ten minutes ago. A man could start thinking he was going round in circles.

Never mind that. Just keep going, and don't think so much… four hundred and… no, wait, that can't be right. You plonker, you've lost count again.

Start again. One… two… three…

I hope LeBeau and Carter got away safe. I didn't see which way they scarpered, I was too busy dodging bullets on my own account… twelve… thirteen … I only hope they stuck together. LeBeau's got his head on straight, he'll make it back to camp. But Carter – well, he could get lost in his own back yard. Give him half a chance, he'll take a wrong turn and end up halfway to Vladivostok before he starts thinking something's not right. And it'd be a shame to lose him now, just when he's turning out to be useful… twenty-three… twenty-four…

Of course they'll be all right. As long as they don't get separated. I wouldn't like to be in any man's shoes who got lost on his own out in this.

… thirty-five… thirty-six… thirty-seven…

Gorblimey, but it's parky! Last time I was this cold was that boarding house in Leeds – when was that, '34 or '35? Middle of winter, anyway, and that miserable old cow of a landlady wouldn't turn the heating on. I was better off the night she locked me out and I had to sleep in the bus shelter.

Wouldn't turn my nose up at a nice cosy bus shelter right now, but there's never one when you really need it. Anyway, I'd be likely to fall asleep, and I'd never get home at that rate. Best just keep walking. Even if I'm not sure where I'm headed.

Now, then, Pete, that'll do. Just because it's a bit nippy, and you're chilled to the bone, and not sure where you are, is no reason to get the wind up. And that's another thing, if there was a wind blowing, you'd be even colder. And there's still a nice bit of moonlight to help you along your way. There's some would call this a stroll in the park, so keep your pecker up.

You've lost count again, haven't you? Not to worry, I don't think it was helping. How about a bit of singing, that'll cheer you up. Now what was that one the old man used to sing, when he'd just got plastered enough to be happy? _Wash me in the water that you washed your dirty daughter in, and I shall be whiter than the whitewash on the…_

What was that? …

Could have sworn I heard something… Maybe not. Makes a man jumpy, wandering round in the dark…

 _Whi-i-iter than the whitewash on the wall,  
 _Whi-i-iter than the whitewash on the wall,  
 _Wash me in the water that you -___

There it is again! Bloody hell…

Okay, don't get nervy. There's no reason to think there's any patrols out this way. More likely it's just a fox, or a hare, running round in the undergrowth, probably just as scared as I am.

Better get a move on, if I want to get back to camp before the moon goes down. Don't fancy trying to find my way out of the woods in pitch dark. It's dark enough as it is, what with all the trees. I'd swear the woods weren't this thick when we headed out. Trick of the light, I suppose.

It's getting colder. I couldn't half do with a nice hot cup of tea right now. Or a shot of brandy, just to take the chill off. Soon as I get back… actually, I'll probably just get my head down. It's taken it out of me, slogging through this. Can't hardly keep me eyes open. If it wasn't so bleedin' cold, I'd crawl in under a bush and have a bit of a kip, but it's a bit risky, dropping off at a time like this. Best keep going…

Surely it can't be far now.

Let's have another one… _There ain't no fun, sitting beneath the trees, giving yourself a hug, giving yourself a squeeze…_

There's that fox again. You want to sing along, do you? Well, I've no objection…

… _love's a farce, sitting on the grass, all by yourself in the moonlight…_

Come on, keep up. If we're going to have a double act, Mr. Fox, you're going to have to do better than that. Silly beggar, wandering round the woods in the middle of the night, in the snow… you want your head read, mate.

 _Oh, I do like to stroll along the Prom, Prom, Prom,  
 _Where the brass bands play, tiddley-om-pom...__

Well, here's an interesting development. I don't remember seeing a fork in the trail on the way out.

All right, Pete, you'd better think about this. Last thing you want is to go haring off in the wrong direction. Camp should be more or less to the east, so if the moon's going down over there… and it's mid-winter, so it's further north – or is it south?

Make up your mind, chum. How about tossing a coin? If only I had a coin on me… only with my luck, it'd be double-headed, so I'd lose either way.

What do you think, Fox? Left or right? Nothing to say for yourself? Fat lot of good you are.

Well, I can't stand here all bloody night. Eeny, meeny, miny...that way.

 _Tiddley-om-pom-pom…_ there, now, this isn't so bad. At least I'm going downhill… as the mountain climber said to the -

What the – oww!

Oh, bugger!

Who left that there? Bloody great tree root, right in the middle of the path. A bloke could do himself a mischief, falling over something like that.

Oh, that hurts… right in the ribs. Must have fallen onto a rock or something… that's going to be a nasty bruise in a day or so.

Now then, take a breath, old son. You're not hurt, only a bit shaken. Up you get… Jesus!

All right. It's all right. You've stuck your hand out to break the fall, and landed a bit awkward on it. It'll be fine as long as you don't… put… any weight on it…

There we go, back on our feet. A bit dizzy… that'll be just the shock. Gives you a fright, going arse over when you're not expecting it. No harm done… at least, you've stubbed your toes on that lump of root as you ran into it, but that'll soon wear off.

Okay, Pete? Ready for the last leg? Then let's be off… it can't be much further…

One… two… three… one foot, then the other… that's the way…


End file.
